


what they don't tell you in churches (saints are sinners too)

by mallfacee



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: AU of 6.7: Who Got Dee Pregnant?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Typical Behavior, Coming Out, Consent Issues, Frank Discussions of Rape/Sexual Assault, LGBTQ Themes, Language, Multi, Sexual Assault, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-10-03 15:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10250621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallfacee/pseuds/mallfacee
Summary: Mac has a secret. Charlie has a baby on the way. Both wonder how they got stuck in the eye of Hurricane Reynolds.i fell asleep with death and fell short of breath...





	1. the low before the high

**Author's Note:**

> An AU of "Who Got Dee Pregnant?" Contains some dubious consent so read with caution. Title comes from Passion for Publication by Anarbor.

When Mac wakes up-- or rather, comes to-- his head is pounding. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten blackout drunk. His vision swims and it takes a moment for him to realize where he is. It takes another moment to realize he has no idea where he is. His stomach is turning and part of him thinks he’s going to be sick. He swallows down the bile and looks around, trying to assess the situation. 

Okay. Ocular patdown. He’s naked. He’s in a place he’s never been before. Okay, so he picked up a chick. Cool. He looks over at the other side of the bed, making out the figure of a person. He doesn’t remember having sex last night. In fact, he doesn’t remember much except for Dennis daring him to take the fifth shot of the night. Most things after that are a blur. But if the way his thighs ache is any indication, it was good sex. He sat up on his arms, to get a look at the girl’s face, trying to figure out if the girl was hot enough to brag about when he got back to the bar. 

The figure rolls over in her sleep, and Mac realizes with a sickening jolt, that she is not a she at all. The man in the bed next to Mac is muscular and gorgeous and  _ naked _ . Mac stumbles out of the bed and makes it to the bathroom, immediately getting sick. His stomach is turning and he can’t breathe. Oh my god. Oh my god.  _ Oh my god _ . 

He… He went home with a man. He had sex with another man. And he doesn’t remember any of it. 

“Mac?” A voice says, and there is the man standing in the doorway. Mac throws up again in response.

“I didn’t realize you drank so much,” the man says. Mac pulls himself away from the toilet. 

“I have to go,” he stutters out. He stumbles into the bedroom and fumbles around for his clothes, dressing quickly. 

“So soon?” the man asks. Mac has to fight the urge to puke again. The man continues: “I was hoping we could get breakfast… maybe I could get your number at least?” 

Mac shakes his head. It makes the headache from the hangover worse like his brain is knocking on the inside of his skull.  He doesn’t even know this man’s name. Why can’t he remember? “I need to go,” Mac repeats. His hands are shaking, he realizes. 

He doesn’t look at the man, doesn’t want to look at the man’s naked body, doesn’t want to think about what he’s just done. He feels sick to his stomach. Mac pushes himself out the door and slams it behind him. He’s out of the apartment building as quickly as he can. He’s pretty sure he’s going to be sick again. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t figure out what to do next or how he should feel about it. 

Okay. Deep breaths. First, he needs to get home. He needs a shower. He needs to sleep this hangover off. The sun burns as he steps out into it. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears. He imagines it pouring out of him, his eyes, his ears, his mouth. He imagines being drained completely until there’s nothing left but a shell. He imagines it would feel better than this. 

Mac doesn’t quite remember the walk back to the apartment, but he’s gotten there somehow, putting the key in the lock and stumbling in. He locks himself in the bathroom, stripping down naked and turning the water up as hot as it goes. He wants to burn this feeling from his skin. He stands under the stream, feeling the hot water turn his skin pink. He shut his eyes and waited for the water to wash away everything he was feeling. He hoped if he stood there long enough the feelings of guilt and shame and confusion would be gone.

He wasn’t sure how long he had stood there before he heard a knock on the door. “Mac, I swear to god if you use my hot water I will murder you,” Dennis says through the door. “You’ve been in there for a fucking hour.” 

Mac blinks his eyes open. The water was freezing on his skin now. Goosebumps were forming down his arms and the back of his neck. He could feel the bile crawling up his throat again. The shame was still sitting there in the bottom of his stomach. There was a sickening jolt of realization in the back of his head: no shower would fix what’s been broken. The wound was deep is his gut, pulsing. 

The only saving grace he could find was the fact that he couldn’t remember a thing. 

\---

It wasn’t that Charlie didn’t like his life. He loved it in fact. He loved the bar, and his friends, and the cats outside his apartment. He loved the pull out couch he shared with Frank and the scratchy feeling of his sleep pants. He even loved the smell. Okay, well love was a strong word; he didn’t mind the smell. 

Still, things were just easier when he wasn’t sober. There were days he felt that if he didn’t drink and huff glue, that he wouldn’t be a person. They were the things that made him who he was. No one liked sober-Charlie. Hell, Charlie didn’t like sober-Charlie. When he didn’t drink things were too sharp, cutting at the edges of his mind like razors, too painful. There were days when the drunken haze was all he had. 

He arrives at the bar at noon to do Charlie-work. Charlie-work is easy. He likes having something to do. It makes the rest of the day go quickly. He doesn’t have to pay attention to anything except what's right in front of him.  Plus it gives him time to think, let’s him notice what’s happening without getting involved. 

Charlie notices a lot more than people give him credit for really. Like he notices that Mac is four hours later to work than he normally is. He notices that Mac isn’t talking as much as normal. He notices that Mac is not telling him something. He’s known Mac long enough that he can tell immediately when Mac’s not himself. 

But it’s not just Mac. He notices Dee too. She’s been tired lately. She hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol in weeks. Her face and body have rounded out slightly, making her figure subtly fuller than it has been. Dee doesn’t look like a bird anymore, not really. She looks like a woman. 

At first, he thinks she’s gotten sober without telling them, and for a moment that feels like a punch in the gut. He isn’t sure if it’s the fact that she didn’t think to tell them or the fact that it means she’s leaving them (him) behind. But then he notices the tiny bump forming at her waist, getting bigger every day. And then it’s like the world is becoming clear before him. Sweet Dee is having a baby. (He’ll never admit it, even to himself, but somehow this hurts more). 

He says nothing about Mac that day and nothing about Dee. He figures that they will tell him when they want to. But Charlie notices Frank, and the worry that creases his brow when he looks at Dee and Mac, and Charlie’s heart aches for him too. He wants to comfort the man in some way, let Frank know that he’s not alone in his worry. But the words trip and fall on his tongue and he finds it’s easier just to crack open another beer and hand it to Frank, giving him a meaningful look.  _ I’ve noticed too. I’m worried about them too.   _

The only one he doesn’t notice is Dennis because Dennis doesn’t need to be noticed. Dennis is a no-holds-barred cage match barreling into every room he walks into. Dennis doesn’t need to be observed, so much as maintained. When something is wrong with Dennis there is no need to watch and quietly observe, drawing the problem out slowly like water from a fragile well. Dennis will scream, and whine, and complain, and tell you exactly what the problem is. Dennis will take your hands in his and drag you along, head first into the latest scheme. Charlie does not worry about Dennis the way he worries about Dee and Mac and Frank. Although sometimes, Charlie gets the feeling that the story Dennis is telling is not the whole truth, not really. And that does make Charlie worry. So, he guesses, in a way he does notice Dennis too. 

All the same, Charlie keeps quiet. He does his work and observes. He goes along with Dennis’ plan to spend the night in the museum, because really, who wouldn’t want to spend a night in a museum. There’s obviously some ancient spirits in there, and he’d be an idiot not to go. He sits back and lets them make plans because he can see the tension easing in Mac and Frank. He can feel the tension easing in himself. 

Dee teases them like she always does, and Dennis shoots back rapid fire. Normally, he wouldn’t really care cause Dee can fight back just as good as any of them, but now Dee is pregnant. And Dennis isn’t just calling her a bird, or the usual, he’s calling her fat. And part of Charlie wants to scream when Mac and Frank get involved because she’s not fat, she’s having a baby and she’s all alone and he can’t even imagine what that blow must feel like. 

But even pregnant Dee gives as good as she gets. “I’m not fat, I’m pregnant,” she shoots back. Charlie pretends to act surprised. All he can feel is relief. A look at Frank’s expression makes him think he’s not the only one. 

What does surprise him is Mac’s response, bitter like vinegar, and harsher than usual. “Dee, we don’t care about you, or your body, or your baby, or that baby bird you’re probably carrying inside of you.” 

Dennis laughs and Charlie wonders how he can’t tell how fundamentally wrong this situation is. Through all their jokes, tension is cutting the air like a knife. Dee is pregnant and Mac is hurting and Frank is worried and Charlie wonders for a moment how he ended up being the glue holding them all together. 

Then Dee fires back. “Really? Well, you should give a shit. Cause one of you is the father.” 

Charlie wants to scream all over again. The humor is gone from the room, and the four of them listen as Dee talks about the Halloween party. He feels cold all over.

Because Charlie remembers bits and pieces of the Halloween party. And he remembers waking up in Dee’s bed the next morning. He remembers the way her eyes followed him as he dressed, the silent agreement they had made to never acknowledge the situation again. 

Dee says “one of you is the father” and leaves, leaving the four men standing in the carnage of the bomb she just ignited. Charlie can’t look at them, can’t make eye contact. He can’t think of anything except… except for the fact that Dee is having a baby. He knows without a doubt that Dee has his baby inside her. 

  
Charlie sits down next to Mac at the bar, and tries to listen to Dennis. He tries not to think about the fact that she never told him. 


	2. three inches to the left

Frank will never claim to be the best father, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t care about his kids. Dee and Dennis would always be at the forefront, even if they weren’t his biologically. Hell, he’d come to think of Charlie and Mac as his children too. His children that he drank with and berated and got into trouble with. But his children all the same. 

And even the worst fathers have some sort of intuition about their kids, right? Frank wouldn’t pretend that he knew exactly what was going on with his kids, but he knew something wasn’t right. There was a feeling in his chest that something wasn’t quite right. First with Dee, the not drinking, the eating too much, the emotions. In hindsight, her pregnancy really shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise. In a way, hearing that she was pregnant was almost a relief. It meant that she wasn’t dying. She wasn’t broken. And then he was ready to strangle the person who knocked up his little girl. He was hard on her, sure, but she was still his kid. 

He tried not to think too hard about the fact that either Mac or Charlie was the father of this baby. He tried to piece things together, tried to remember if he had seen anything or noticed anything between Dee and one of them. Nothing came to mind. But Mac… Mac was acting strange today. They could all feel it. Frank had a suspicion, or rather a fear, that Mac’s strange behavior was linked with Dee’s pregnancy. 

Frank sits and stares across at the two men. Mac is telling them that he doesn’t remember much about that night, that he browned out. They have a mystery on their hands it seems. 

“Alright,” Dennis says. “So all we have to do is put our brown moments together and we’ll figure it out.” 

“We don’t need to,” Charlie says. Frank watches Charlie look down at his feet, and there’s a split second before Charlie opens his mouth that Frank realizes what he’s going to say. “I’m the father of Dee’s baby,” Charlie tells them. It’s so out of left field that they’re all frozen. 

Frank doesn’t even think, doesn’t even remember moving. It’s instinct, the world moving in slow motion. One moment he’s sitting, listening to Charlie tell them how he’s the father of the baby, and the next he’s on his feet, his knuckles making contact with Charlie’s jaw. It feels like something out of a movie, his fist moving in slow motion, Charlie falling back. The world speeds up again and everything moves too quickly. His knuckles are bleeding where they came into contact with Charlie’s teeth, and Dennis is on him, pulling him back. 

“Jesus Christ, Frank!” Dennis yells. “What the hell?” 

“He knocked up your sister,” Frank says like it explains everything. Dennis meets his eyes and Frank knows that, for now, it does explain everything. He looks over, and Mac is helping Charlie off the floor. 

“Alright, I kind of deserved that, but it wasn’t entirely my fault okay! Dee was there too. She definitely helped to get herself pregnant!” Charlie says. 

“Have you known? This whole time?” Dennis demands. The thought had never occurred to Frank until Dennis said it, that Charlie and Dee had been hiding this the whole time. He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse.

“I knew she was pregnant. Not that it was mine. Not until she said…” 

Frank deflates a bit at that. Charlie wasn’t keeping secrets from him at least. It seemed Dee had kept them all in the dark. Dennis has the forethought to go behind the bar and get them each a cold beer. Frank accepts his drink and chugs a good half the bottle before setting it down on the bar. There’s a long moment of silence between the four of them. 

“So… Dee and Charlie are having a baby.” Frank says, breaking the silence. The words feel hard to digest. In his head, the next part of this conversation is Charlie, commenting on his statement. They will talk, then laugh, then tease and celebrate. They’ll drink, and Frank will get high, and in a few months Dee will pop out a kid and they’ll figure it out from there. 

Instead, Mac gets up and walks out, beer untouched. It’s only then that Frank realizes he still doesn’t know what’s wrong with Mac. 

\---

Mac knows Philly better than any place on earth. He could walk the streets with his eyes closed. It’s March, but the streets still get freezing at night, a thin layer of ice covers the city. He feels frozen to his core. He stops in a liquor store and decides he hates himself tonight; he buys a bottle of Fireball and a case of Yuengling. He decides on the street that the hard liquor would be his poison of choice for the evening. The cinnamon whiskey burns his throat in a way that most liquors can’t anymore. He guesses alcoholism will do that to you. 

He isn’t sure why he left the bar exactly, couldn’t put his finger on it if you asked him. Or maybe it was that he wouldn’t explain it. He didn’t want to think about it. There was something about the air that made it too hot in there. He couldn’t breathe in the bar, and that thought makes him feel sick. The bar was his safe place, the one place that was always truly his. And somehow in the course of twenty-four hours that ceased to be true. He couldn’t breathe anywhere today, couldn’t sit still. Everything in his life had been picked up and moved three inches to the left: on the surface, it didn’t look different, but all the same had an eerie quality to it. 

He’s halfway through the bottle when he realizes he’s outside Dee’s apartment building. He shrugs and makes his way up the stairs, pounding on Dee’s door. 

Dee opens it with a confused expression on her face. “Mac what the fuck?” she asks, though her words aren’t unkind. “Are you drunk?”

“We’re always drunk, Dee. Let me in.” He demands. She steps aside and lets him into the apartment. 

There’s an awkward silence hanging between them. Mac doesn’t know why he’s here, doesn’t know why he thought to come to Dee’s of all places. He isn’t sure he was thinking at all. He takes another sip of the whiskey and is about to offer it to her before he remembers. 

And a part of him is angry at her for it. Angry that she had to come out with this today of all days. Because it wasn’t bad enough that Mac’s stuck with the image of the naked man floating in his head all day, pounding in tune with the sick feeling in his gut. But now Dee is pregnant, and Charlie is going to be a dad, and Frank punched Charlie. Everything in their lives has changed between this morning and now, and he’s the only one who seems to realize it. 

He wants to scream at her, take it all out on her. But Dee’s pregnant, and Mac still has like, morals and stuff. He can’t scream at a pregnant lady, even if it is just Dee. 

“How long til you pop?” he asks. Dee looks down at her visible baby bump. She’s not bothering to cover it now. 

“About four months. July,” she tells him. There’s a beat. “It’s not yours.” 

“I know.” 

Dee sighs. “What are you doing here Mac?”

He wishes he could tell her. Wishes he could tell someone. He goes back to the whiskey bottle instead. “I was in the neighborhood,” is all he says, and really it’s the truth. 

“So you decided to show up drunk at my apartment?” 

Mac shrugs. “I guess so. You know it was shitty to spring it all on us like that. Frank punched Charlie.” 

“Frank… Our Frank?” Dee asks. Mac notices that she doesn’t say a word about Charlie as if she already knew it was him. Mac guesses that she did. 

“Yeah. Socked him in the jaw. Then they decided to sit around and congratulate each other on the fucking ‘Three Men and a Baby’ shit you’ve gotten us into.”

“It can’t be ‘Three Men and a Baby’ if there’s four of you.” Dee points out. “And anyway, I might not keep it.” 

“You’re giving it away?” 

“I haven’t decided yet,” Dee says. She walks up and takes the whiskey bottle from Mac. “Maybe I will or maybe I won’t. Why aren’t you with them?”

“It was getting a little lame. They were being all sentimental and shit.” Mac says as a way of an excuse. “Why didn’t you just say it was Charlie.”

Dee shrugs and Mac can see that she’s completely remorseless. “I just wanted to freak you guys out. Plus after all that shit about my bird baby, I wanted you to panic a bit.” 

“We never slept together,” Mac said. “At the party, we never slept together.” 

“I tried,” Dee told him. “You guys were ragging on me all night, so I switched costumes with some chick dressed like a peacock. Tried to get you to bang me just to prove I could. You couldn’t get it up. So I slept with Charlie.”

“I could so get it up!” Mac snaps at her. Dee laughs and shakes her head. 

“You so could not! Whiskey dick, bitch.” 

Mac glares at her. “I do not have whiskey dick,” he insists, and he is definitely not pouting. He is simply showing her his manly smolder. 

Dee is still laughing at him, and Mac feels a bit put out. But there’s something about hearing her laughter that is infectious. He cracks a tiny smile at her. “I have Yuengling.” He tells her. 

“I’m pregnant, jackass. I don’t want this kid to come out with two heads cause I decided to have a beer five months in.”

“Your loss. A two-headed baby would be awesome,” Mac says. He walks into her kitchen and sets the beer on her table. She follows him and hands him back the whiskey bottle. 

“Mac, why are you here?” Dee asks again. “Why did you come here tonight?” 

Mac shrugs. “Dee, do you believe in God?” 

The question takes her off guard and she pauses for a moment before answering. “I know you do.”

It’s not an answer, but somehow Mac’s okay with that. He hesitates before replying, sitting down at the table. “Do you think there are some things that just can’t be forgiven?” 

Dee sits beside him. “I don’t think God’s going to smite me because I got knocked up.” 

“Jesus, Dee, I’m not talking about you!” Mac snaps. Dee pulls back and just stares at Mac. They sit in silence for a moment, and Mac doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he should speak at all. Really, there’s just a lot Mac doesn’t know today. 

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” Dee asks. “Your drunk as shit, and if you die before getting back home I’ll have to peel Dennis’ apples for the rest of my life.” 

Mac looks up at her. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” 

Dee just nods and goes to the linen closet, pulling out some blankets and putting them on the couch. “Don’t puke on my couch,” she instructs. He nods and gets up, settling himself on the couch. 

“And Mac?” Mac looks up to meet her eyes. “I think whatever it is you think you won’t get forgiven for… It can’t be any worse than some of the other shit we’ve done.” 

And with that she shut herself into her bedroom, leaving Mac alone in the living room. For a moment, Mac can breathe again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a really quick update because I have an amazing beta reader pushing me to write more (thanks Holden!). The next update probably won't be as quick but I'll try to post as often as I can.


	3. hit me on my blind side

By the time Dee wakes up the next day, Mac is gone. The apartment feels strangely empty with just her in it. Her and the tiny human growing inside her. She thinks she heard once that the baby has fingernails at this point. She tries not to think about it too much. 

She’s not feeling sick in the mornings anymore, so much as dizzy. The doctor tells her this is normal, but it still fucking sucks. She still can’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that in four months she is going to be having a baby. A tiny human will be pushed out of her vagina and she knows she’s supposed to be excited for ‘the miracle of childbirth’ but really all she feels is vaguely grossed out at the thought. 

She rests her hands on her stomach and makes her way into the kitchen. “Come on, baby, let’s get some food in you so Mommy doesn’t collapse at work today.” The doctor had told her that the baby had ears now, can hear her voice. Dee feels kind of dumb doing it, but she heard it’s good for the baby. She doesn’t know if it’s a girl or a boy. Doesn’t want to know. She just calls it ‘baby’ and hopes it’s enough. The idea that she’s responsible for another human is like a weight crushing down on her. Even though she isn’t sure she’s keeping the baby, she still doesn’t want to fuck it up. This baby has her and Charlie for parents; it needs all the help it can get. 

She makes herself tea and sits on the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table. Everything from the night before sits on her shoulders. It starts to sink in how royally fucked she is. Suddenly, the idea of seeing Charlie, or any of them today feels like too much. She feels like the biggest asshole in the world for dropping it on them like that. She almost regrets telling them at all, because she knows things are going to change now. She can’t ignore her pregnancy anymore: the guys won’t let her. Mac called it “Three Men and a Baby” and the description makes her want to both laugh and scream at the same time the more she thinks about it because honestly the five of them raising a baby is one of the most hilariously fucked up scenarios she can think of. Dee sets her hand on her stomach. She can feel where the baby is and her mood shifts dramatically, making her want to cry. She never was a weepy person before. Fuck baby hormones, honestly. 

“Baby,” she says to it quietly. “Things are kind of fucked up right now okay? I’m not sure how to fix it, but I’m gonna try. Just please… once you’re a person try not to be too pissed with me. I’m trying really hard not to be a shitty mom.” 

For a moment she feels a bit stupid for talking to her baby about this. But then she feels it, a tiny kick beneath her hand. Like the baby is trying to reassure her. It’s way of saying “I don’t blame you.”

If anyone asks Dee about it later, she definitely did not cry when she felt her baby kick for the first time. Definitely not. 

\---

Charlie tries not to feel hurt when Dee doesn’t come into work the next day. Or the next day. Or the day after that. On the fourth day, Dee is still not there, but Mac is. 

“Dee’s not coming in again,” Mac tells him as a way of greeting. 

“How do you know?” Charlie responds. 

“She called me,” Mac says. 

“She called you,” Charlie repeats, deadpan, a little unbelieving. Because since when the fuck did Dee call Mac? When the fuck did Dee call any of them?

Mac must have read his mind because the other man responds with, “Yeah, apparently our employees call in sick now? Does she think we run a real business or something?”

“She called  _ you, _ ” Charlie repeats. He tries, really truly tries not to be angry at Mac. But jealousy is coursing through his veins, raising his heart rate. How fucking dare she? She decides to call Mac instead of the father of her child? 

“Yeah. Dee called me.” Mac says. “I, um, crashed at her place the other night and we talked and I guess… I guess she just calls me now? I don’t know, man.” 

And that, really, was the wrong thing to say. Charlie turns on his heel and storms out of the bar. He’s not going to let Dee ignore him anymore, and he’s certainly not going to get his information from Mac. It’s ten blocks to Dee’s apartment, and in the chilled wind walking there from the bar is usually hell. But Charlie doesn’t notice, too busy stepping in time to the sound of blood rushing in his ears and the throb of his bruised jaw. In his anger, it takes almost no time to get to Dee’s apartment building and walk the three flights of stairs to her floor. 

He pounds on the door. “Dee open up! I know you’re home!” He shouts through the door. He can hear movement behind it and the door suddenly swings open. 

“Can you calm the fuck down? Jesus, Charlie, I’m having a fucking baby. I can’t be fucking sprinting to the door.” Dee snaps. 

And Charlie wants to laugh because for a second it’s almost like things are normal. The sight of Dee’s prominent baby belly causes the laugh to evaporate in his throat. 

“Are you planning on ever coming back to work?” He asks her. He doesn’t ask to be let into the apartment, just pushing himself in around her. 

“I needed a few days off,” Dee says a bit defensively. 

“A few days off. Right. Because you’re fucking pregnant.” Charlie snaps back. 

“Yeah, I am pregnant. I’m growing a small human in my uterus. And it’s fucking exhausting. So fuck off.” Dee says. And Charlie can see the fight in her, shining behind her eyes. Usually, Charlie admires it. Today, he wants to fight back. 

“You’re growing my small human, you mean.” Charlie shoots back. “It’s my baby isn’t it?”

“Yes, Charlie. It’s your baby. Is that why you showed up here?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? You should have told me the minute you found out!”

“Well, I didn’t,” Dee says. “I didn’t tell anyone. ‘Cause you guys don’t give a shit anyway.”

“It’s my kid! Of course, I give a shit!” 

“Well, I don’t want you to! I’m not keeping this baby, Charlie. So there’s really nothing to discuss here. If you just came here to yell at me, mission accomplished. You can go.” 

Her words hit him deep in the gut. Charlie looks up at Dee, shock rushing through his body. He almost wants to hit her. He doesn’t. 

“What the fuck do you mean, you’re not keeping the baby,” Charlie asks, and his voice is low and gravelly. Anger permeates from his skin as he glares at her. Dee holds her own, has always been able to hold her own and glares back. 

“Do you seriously think we can be parents Charlie?” Dee asks, and the laugh in her voice makes him see red. 

He slams his hand down on the counter. The noise makes Dee jump. 

“Don’t you fucking patronize me!” He shouts. His voice echoes off the walls. He’s scaring Dee, he knows he is, but he can’t bring himself to stop. “You fucking bitch! It’s my baby too! You should have fucking told me! If you didn’t want a fucking baby, you should have flushed that thing out! Or better yet, you should have kept your fucking legs closed! But that’s my fucking baby in there, and I’m not going to watch you give it away, ‘cause you feel bad about being a whore!” 

“Fuck you, Charlie!” Dee shouts back. “You had just as much to do with this as I did! You know why I didn’t tell you? Because you’re gonna be a shitty Dad! You’re a fucking alcoholic and you huff paint, and you can’t even fucking read! You live in a shitty apartment with your maybe-dad, have no concept of hygiene, and you kill rats for a living! You’re a shitty person, and you’re gonna be a shitty dad, and I’m not letting this kid experience that!” 

Her words cut deep. And when he looks up he realizes she’s crying. And shit, he's never seen Dee cry before. He wants to slow this all down, go back and change the conversation. 

“I could be a great dad,” Charlie says quietly. He wished he had never come here. 

“Get out,” Dee says in response. Her voice is just as quiet. It occurs to Charlie, vaguely in the back of his mind, that even in anger they seem to match each other perfectly. “Get out of my apartment. And tell Dennis and Mac that as long as you’re working there, I quit.” 

Charlie doesn’t need to be told twice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title comes from Casanova by Allie X. Thanks for all the support guys! I'm gonna be trying to post about a chapter a week. It may be more or less depending on, you know, life. Thanks again guys!


	4. a fool for sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains frank discussion of mental illness and rape in the second half of the chapter. Please read at your own caution. Chapter 
> 
> Chapter title comes from Coming Down by Halsey. Thank you to Holden for his beta reading and thanks to all of you who have taken the time to read and review this story. I'm so glad you guys enjoy it!

Once Dee quits, Mac stops coming into work. Frank hears from Charlie that Mac’s decided he needs a few days off too. They aren’t busy enough that losing two members of the team hurts Paddy’s in any way, but Frank is unseated by the tension that sits in the bar now. If anything, the bar is slower, as if the loss of Dee and Mac has cast a spell over the bar making customers wary of coming in. 

According to Dennis, Mac is fine. 

“He just sits in his room all day or goes to the gym. He’s allowed to take days off, Frank,” Dennis says. Frank worries about Dennis sometimes, how oblivious his son can be. Dennis is so used to the rest of the gang revolving around him, that Frank wonders if he’s even capable of noticing how much things have changed in such a short period of time. 

Charlie tells Frank a different story about Mac. He can see the worry in Charlie’s voice as he recounts Mac’s strange behavior. In the middle of the night, Charlie and Frank lay awake and Charlie quietly tells Frank about his fears. Frank would make fun of him for being a thirteen-year-old girl if it wasn’t for the fact that Frank was scared of the same things. Charlie tells Frank about how Mac’s smoking again, at least a pack a day. 

“Mac hasn’t done that since high school,” Charlie tells him in confidence. “It’s what Mac does when he’s really stressed… Mac… He self-destructs when he’s upset. It’s like the world’s caving in on him or some shit. ‘Cept he’s the one digging the hole. Watch. He’ll move up to pot next. Then something harder, X or something because the pot won’t be enough. Then he’ll do X and start going out more, fuck some chicks or something to take the edge off. It’s what he does. I think it’s gonna get bad.” 

Frank doesn’t know what to say to that, can only listen to Charlie’s fears. He realizes just how much Charlie knows about all of them, Mac especially. 

They don’t talk about Dee and the baby. While Frank and Charlie have fallen into a steady truce, it’s a sore subject. The bruise on Charlie’s jaw has healed along with Frank’s knuckles, but the wound is still there. They move around it carefully, knowing that touching the tender spot will only lead to more pain.  

Charlie does bring it up eventually, though, and Frank knew he would. It’s been two weeks since Dee had told them she was pregnant, and ten days since she quit. They lie in bed and Frank is seconds away from dozing off when Charlie tells him. 

“Dee’s giving up the baby.” 

That makes Frank alert again. “What?” 

“She… The day that she quit… She told me that she’s giving up the baby because she thinks I’m going to be a shitty father. Then she said she wouldn’t work at Paddy’s as long as I was there.” 

“Holy shit,” Frank says. “That’s… you must have really pissed her off.” 

“I called her a whore when she said she was giving the baby up.” 

Frank sits up on his elbows. “I oughta punch you again.” But he can’t muster up the venom required for such a statement. The words hang lame in the air. 

“No need. I know I fucked up okay.” In the darkness, Frank can hear Charlie sigh. “She’s right, isn’t she? I’m gonna be a shitty father.” 

Frank thinks about his answer for a moment. “Probably,” he says honestly. “But hey, it’s not your fault. The closest thing you’ve got to a dad is me and I’m pretty lousy at it.” 

“I could be a great dad,” Charlie says, and Frank has a feeling that Charlie is trying to convince himself rather than Frank. 

“You could be. But maybe not right now, kid. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Frank tells him. He isn’t sure if he’s being reassuring or not, but he’s trying. 

Charlie takes a while to respond and Frank is sure that Charlie’s fallen asleep on him, before he hears, quietly: “You couldn’t be that shit of a dad. At least you’re like, here.” 

They don’t say anything more that night, but Frank lays awake for a long time. He’s never been a good dad, even when he was under the impression that Dennis and Dee were his by blood. In a way, he’s better to them now as Charlie’s drunken roommate than he ever was as their actual father. And he’s had his fun living with Charlie, going out and seeing how depraved he can become. But he’s starting to wonder if maybe, with everything going to shit, it’s time to start being a dad again. 

The next morning, before going to Paddy’s, he stops by Dee’s. He doesn’t bring up Charlie to her or try to convince her to keep the baby or even try to get her to come back to work. He doesn’t give some heartfelt speech about parenthood because frankly, he’s not a pussy. But he makes her tea and sits at her kitchen table while she drinks it. She gives him a small smile from across the table. Frank thinks it’s a start. 

\---

It takes Mac ten days to open the window. The air in his room is thick with tobacco and pot and shame. He spends his days vacillating between laying in bed and pacing. He’s sure he eats, because he doesn’t feel hungry, but everything is such a blur he can’t tell anyone what he’s eaten or when. His life has become a dichotomy of extremes. Gorging himself or starving, not showering for days or two-hour showers that turn his skin pink, no cigarettes at all or a pack at a time, chain smoked in quick succession. Mac has always pretended to be a man with no gray area, but here he is, living squarely in black and white. Mac has become a man of absolutes. 

He counts down the days of his solitude, unable to bring himself to face anyone, even Dennis. He remembers a point in high school where, after getting caught smoking pot under the bleachers, an English teacher too kind for her job sent him to the school psychologist. The psychologist had thrown around words like  _ clinical depression _ and  _ bipolar disorder _ . Mac had given her the finger and told her he was fine. He went back to smoking under the bleachers and no one had ever bothered him again. 

Mac realizes as he lies in bed for ten days, that he is decidedly not fine. 

In hindsight, Mac thinks he shouldn’t be surprised that Dennis would get sick of all this moping shit. On the tenth day, Dennis storms into Mac’s room, and Mac is sure the world is ending. 

“Get the fuck up,” Dennis says. “Get the fuck up. I’m tired of this shit. Your room stinks and it’s stinking up the whole apartment. Open the fucking window, take a fucking shower and Get. The. Fuck. Up.”

Mac doesn’t want to listen, but Dennis is yanking the sheets off Mac’s bed, opening the curtains, turning on all the lights like a man possessed. Mac sits up and stares at Dennis for a moment. Dennis is seething at the foot of the bed. Mac doesn’t say anything, just gets out of bed and opens the window. 

He doesn’t look back at Dennis at first. Instead, he looks out over the neighborhood and breathes in the chilled March air. The cold sinks down into his stomach, settling there. He has the sudden urge to scream. To scream and kick and cry and curse until he feels warm again. But Mac doesn’t have warm, he has freezing and burning. Mac’s dichotomy of extremes. He stays silent. 

“You better get cleaned up. You’re coming back to the bar today.” Dennis says. Mac still doesn’t look at him, can’t look at him. 

“Dennis…” He says quietly, almost a sigh. He can’t put into words how much he physically can’t do that today. Dennis isn’t listening, though. Mac can hear Dennis shuffling through his drawers.

“Don’t, ‘Dennis’ me!” Dennis snaps. “Ten days is long enough. We’re shorthanded enough as it is without Dee. Now come on!” And suddenly there’s a hand on Mac’s shoulder. Mac doesn’t even think, just jams his elbow back hard into Dennis’ soft gut. 

Mac turns around, alarmed as Dennis stumbles back. “Shit. Shit, I’m sorry, man… I didn’t mean…” The words dissolve on Mac’s tongue, the shock on Dennis’ face enough to silence him. 

“Mac, what the  _ hell _ is going on with you?” Dennis asks. Mac doesn’t know how to respond. The truth dances in his stomach and up his throat, begging to be let out. 

“Nothing,” Mac says instead because he can’t say anything else. 

“That’s bullshit,” Dennis replies. Mac can’t even deny that. It is bullshit. “Tell me.” 

“I slept with someone,” Mac says finally. 

“And you felt the need to mope for two weeks over it?” Dennis says. “Don’t be such a pussy.” 

“Fuck you,” Mac responds automatically. “It’s none of your fucking business.” 

“It is my business when you’re not showing up for work and stinking up the apartment with your moping.” Dennis bites back. 

“I think I was drugged, okay?!” And then it’s out there. The truth he didn’t want to admit, even to himself. The idea had been there in the back of his mind for a while. Since when does a career alcoholic like Mac black-out after five shots? Mac is pretty sure he was drugged. And if he was drugged that means…. He can’t bring himself to even think the words. 

“Some chick drugged you and had her way with you?” Dennis says, and Mac wants to puke at the hint of a laugh in Dennis’ voice. 

“Don’t you fucking laugh at me!” Mac all but screams. Rage pours through his veins quick and hot. He grabs the first thing he can put his hands on and throws it at Dennis. He isn’t sure if it’s lucky or unlucky that his throw misses by a mile and the table lamp smashes against the wall behind them. 

Dennis is staring at him. Cold and unmoving. Just staring. “Get out,” Dennis says. His voice is emotionless. Mac feels like he can’t breathe. “Get out of this apartment. Don’t come back.” 

Mac can barely comprehend the words. His heart is pounding in his ears and he thinks he might be sick. Things begin to move in slow motion and the world stops being real. He puts on a shirt and slips out the door obediently. Twelve steps to the door. Open the door, close the door. Lock it behind him. Forty steps to the stairwell. Three flights of stairs. Out into the cold Philly air. Everything is distorted like he’s watching it happen to someone else. 

It isn’t until he gets down the block to the bus stop that he realizes that there are hot tracks of tears spilling down his cheeks. He can’t place why he’s crying.  _ Stop, stop STOP.  _ The world snaps back to normal pace and Mac pulls back punching the nearest brick wall, letting out a strangled scream that erupts from the back of his throat like a frightening, guttural howl. 

He stumbles back and the pain in his knuckles shocks up his arm like a wake-up call. He is suddenly sickeningly aware of the past two weeks. The thoughts and memories and emotion boil up and threaten to swallow him whole. Mac thinks that he just might let them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. You can check out my tumblr at crystalldaddy.tumblr.com


	5. i like it when you stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait between updates. Life got in the way. I hope the fact this chapter is slightly longer than my usual makes up for that?

March turns into April and Dee’s life starts to go like this: She wakes up at eight to the smell of bacon cooking in her apartment. She walks out into her tiny kitchen and Frank is there, cooking. 

“It’s easier to cook here than it is at my place,” he explains like he’s doing it for himself and not for her. Dee doesn’t call him on it. Dee stops questioning it after the first six breakfasts. Now she just says good morning and goes to brush her teeth. She brushes her hair and takes one of the fancy prenatal vitamins Frank got her out of the bottle. Every morning she looks over the ingredients list, folic acid, calcium, iron, iodine, vitamins for every letter of the alphabet, and only hesitates for a second before biting down on the chalky tablet. Then it’s time for breakfast with Frank. 

It’s awkward at first, sitting across the table from the man who ignored her her entire childhood. Ignored all the times her mother sat in his place and called her a monster, told her “first is the worst.” But the awkwardness eases bit by bit and Dee thinks that with every serving of eggs she’s forgiving him a little more. 

They don’t talk much over breakfast, except for the moments in which Dee’s anxieties spill over into the orange juice and she finds herself spitting out her worries onto the table. 

“I’m scared the baby’s gonna have scoliosis.” 

“I don’t know what to do with myself without the bar.” 

And the big one: “I don’t think I want to give up this baby.” 

Frank looks at her over the table. She can see in his eyes that he doesn’t have answers for her, just worry and pity. But even through that, she imagines this is what it’s like to have a real dad. 

“You have to figure out what you want, Deandra,” He tells her between mouthfuls of bacon that she can’t eat without gagging anymore (and honestly fuck baby hormones). “And you need to talk to Charlie.” 

Dee takes his advice into account as she begins separating her life into two categories: Before Paddy’s, and After. After Paddy’s starts with Frank and eggs and anxiety and slowly turns into a routine. Once Frank leaves for the bar, Dee takes a walk around the neighborhood. It’s slow going with a baby six months in the making but the sun feels good on her skin. Sometimes she stops at Artemis’ place and lets Artemis try to talk her into letting Artemis be her doula and doing a home birth, or getting a cosmetology license, or doing stuff other than sitting on the couch and worrying about her future. Sometimes, when she get’s home from Artemis’ place she listens, and looks into cosmetology school or teaching credentials or anything that isn’t working for her brother making less than minimum wage. 

Sometimes she goes to the mall and goes into the baby store, looking at all the tiny furniture and pastel clothing. She still doesn’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but looking at the tiny socks and shoes makes her both excited and terrified at the same time. 

At a certain point After Paddy’s, Dee stops feeling hopeless and starts feeling like a mom. 

The one thing she can’t bring herself to do is to call Charlie. She lays in bed at night and admits to herself that she’s scared to talk to him. Scared that all they’ll end up doing is fighting. Scared that he’ll blame her again. 

Really, she should have known that Charlie would take the first step. 

She wakes up one morning in April to the usual smell of breakfast. Dee slips on her robe and goes out into the kitchen, ready to greet the day. Except Frank isn’t standing at her stove, cooking eggs. Charlie is. Her heart jumps a beat, and the baby does a back-flip in response. She puts her hand on her stomach, not sure if she’s comforting herself or the baby. 

“I didn’t know you could cook,” She says quietly. He turns and looks at her, seemingly unsurprised. 

“Frank taught me how to make eggs on the hot plate,” he tells her. “Can’t make bacon though.” 

“Bacon makes me puke now,” she says in response. “I think our baby might be a bacon-hating heathen.” 

He gives her a small smile but doesn’t say anything, just plating up her eggs and handing them to her like a peace offering. 

“The baby’s getting big.” He says quietly. 

“Yeah. It is.” 

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks her. She shakes her head. 

“Where’s Frank?” she asks, putting her eggs on the table. 

“He thought we needed to talk.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk,” Dee says a bit petulantly. It’s stupid, she knows, but there’s still a bit of anger that sits in the back of her throat. 

“Dee…” Charlie says, almost pleading. Dee has to resist the urge to laugh in his face. Because there’s something kind of hilarious about the man who got her pregnant then called her a whore for it begging for forgiveness like this. Something hilarious about Charlie using her breakfast as a peace offering. 

“Don’t Charlie. It’s too early for this.” Dee says. Charlie nods. 

“We could just… eat?” Charlie suggests. Dee wants to tell him, no, to throw the eggs in his face and tell him to get out. But she’s hungry and tired of fighting these battles. She nods instead and sits down at her tiny kitchen table. 

The eggs are rubbery and flavorless in her mouth, but she eats them anyway. Focusing on the eggs is better than focusing on the Charlie across the table, silent and awkward. She doesn’t look up at him until she’s done, and regrets it as soon as she meets his eyes. 

“Dee, come back to Paddy’s,” Charlie says quietly. 

“Charlie, no.”

“Why not?!” 

“Because Charlie! I can’t work for you guys for the rest of my life! 

“Why not? We’re a great team!” 

“We’re not a team Charlie. And I can’t spend the rest of my life working for my brother for less than minimum wage!” Dee says. 

“So I’ll talk to Dennis!” Charlie insists. “Get you a raise or some shit. Hell, I’ll give you my share of Paddy’s.”

“Charlie, you don’t have any more shares of Paddy’s,” Dee says with a sigh. 

“Well, I’ll get some then give them to you.” 

“Charlie, stop it,” Dee says. “It’s done, okay? Just stop.”

“Dee…” 

“Charlie what are you doing here?” Dee asks. She’s tired of this, tired of always dancing around him. She wants this to stop. 

“I’m trying to apologize, okay!” Charlie says. “So eat more eggs and come back to Paddy’s.” 

“Eggs won’t fix this Charlie. It doesn’t work like that.” Dee tells him. She can hear the condescension in her own voice, but can’t bring herself to feel bad about it. 

“When what will?” Charlie asks exasperation coloring his tone. 

“I don’t know!” Dee snaps back. 

“Dee…” Charlie says. “Look, I know that I don’t read good, and I don’t make enough money, and I’m mean to you. But… this is my baby too. So let me just… Try and fix this? Please?”

Dee sighs and stands up, pacing the kitchen for a moment before turning back to Charlie. 

“What did you have in mind?” she asks quietly. Charlie just grins up at her. The anger is still there a little bit, but it fades a bit. It’s not much, but it’s a start. 

\---

There are many things that Dennis does not do. Dennis does not worry when Mac doesn’t leave his room for ten days. Dennis does not panic when Mac tells Dennis that he’s been drugged. Dennis is not scared when Mac throws the lamp. He is not shaking when he throws Mac out. He does not drink an entire bottle of whiskey when Mac leaves. He does not shake and cry and throw the bottle at the wall and cut his hands picking up the broken glass. He does not think about being fourteen in the library with Mrs. Klinsky. He definitely does not worry when the clock reads four AM Mac doesn’t come back. 

Dennis doesn’t do any of these things. 

Dennis doesn’t let himself do any of these things, any of this emotional bullshit. Dennis decided a long time ago that he didn’t do emotions. The way Dennis saw it there was a monster hanging around everyone, clinging to their shoulders. He has one. Everyone does. But Dennis is better than everyone else, knows how to handle this sort of thing. And he knows, the most dangerous thing a person could do is name the monster that haunts you. 

Some called their monster anger, or sadness, or grief. Dennis knows better. Dennis’ monster is an emptiness, a nothingness without a name. As long as it’s nameless, as long as he doesn’t acknowledge it, everything is fine. 

But Mac… Mac had to go and name the monster. Mac can’t leave well enough alone. So really, Dennis doesn’t have a choice in kicking Mac out. It’s safer for both of them that way. Mac just needs to leave, just for a bit. Just until Mac forgot the name of his monster and Dennis gets over the urge to name his own. 

The thing is, Mac doesn’t seem to understand the rules. Because Mac doesn’t come home. He doesn’t come home that night or the night after, and March turns into April and he’s still not home. And Dennis doesn’t understand why. 

If Dennis had feelings he would be worried. He would be panicking because it would be one thing if Mac just didn’t come home. But Mac isn’t coming into the bar either. It has been six days since Dennis has seen Mac. Six days since anyone had seen Mac. If Dennis had feelings he would be out of his mind. 

On the sixth day of Mac’s disappearance, it occurs to Dennis to check Dee’s place. Because really, he wouldn’t put it past Dee and Mac to team up and fuck with him.  _ Wouldn’t it be funny if we just, let Dennis think you were missing? _ Dee says in her laughing tone. And Mac laughs back like he hasn’t been in bed for 10 days and agrees. Dennis can imagine it clearer than anything. 

So naturally, the only course of action is to show up at Dee’s place and demand Mac comes home. But first, he needs to berate the two of them for trying to pull one over on him like this. He sits in the Range Rover, going over the potential conversation in his head like a prayer. By the time he gets to Dee’s apartment, he’s buzzing, ready to finish this whole mess once and for all. Then they can all get back to normal. 

He parks his car on the street and goes upstairs to Dee’s place, taking the steps two at a time. He’s ready for this, knocking on the door, ready to begin his condemnation as soon as Dee opens the door. 

Except, the door swings open and Dee isn’t standing there. Mac isn’t standing there. It’s Charlie, in a pair of unfamiliar flannel pajamas and bed head. And Dennis can’t really do anything but scream.

“What the fuck are you doing here!” Dennis yells. All the fury he can muster is forced onto Charlie, and it’s all he can do not to grab Charlie by the shoulders and shake him. 

Charlie is faster than him though, and quickly pushes Dennis back, shutting the door to the apartment. 

“Jesus, calm down. Dee’s sleeping.” Charlie insists. 

“Why are you sleeping in my sister’s apartment?” Dennis demands, absolutely seething. 

“Why are you yelling?” Charlie shoots back. 

“Because first you get Dee pregnant and now you’re sleeping in her apartment?” Dennis says, and he can’t understand how Charlie can’t see what’s wrong here. This isn’t how the gang works. It’s him and Mac and Charlie, a united front, the three of them before anyone else, and Dee there to go along with the schemes and Frank there to finance any of this. Dee is not supposed to be pregnant. Mac is not supposed to be missing. Charlie isn’t supposed to be at Dee’s place. Frank’s not supposed to care. They’re naming the monster and can’t even see the danger in it. The world feels too small, and it all makes Dennis feel sick. Things aren’t supposed to be  _ different _ .  

“Look, you need to just calm down okay.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Dennis feels like he can’t breathe. He barges past Charlie into the apartment.

“Mac! Mac get the fuck out here! This isn’t fucking funny!!” Dennis screams. Dee stumbles out of the bedroom, staring at him confused. Her swollen belly is prominent and peeks out from under her tank top. It’s too hard to ignore and Dennis feels sick. He wants to scream and he does, letting out a frustrated guttural howl. 

“Dennis, what the fuck?” Dee asks. Dennis can’t explain, can’t begin to explain 

“Where is Mac?” He asks. He steps up to her, getting too close, gripping her shoulders. He can feel the press of her stomach against his waist, and he wants to shake her. His fingers dig into her shoulders and he’s hurting her, he knows he is, but there is a part of him that’s afraid if he lets go of his sister the walls will collapse around them, leaving them in the ruins of a life that isn’t here anymore. Charlie doesn’t give him an option though, pulling Dennis off of Dee. 

“Dennis you’re hurting her,” Charlie says, but Dennis isn’t listening, grounding himself, using Dee as a shield. 

Dee reaches up and puts her hand on Dennis’ chest, slowly pushing him away. Dennis doesn’t know why but he obeys her silent command, releasing her shoulders. In that moment he hates Dee, hates her with a fire he can’t name. Because he needs to find Mac, needs to escape this cruel joke they’re all playing on him. But she’s his sister. More than that, she’s his twin, his second life. 

“I need to find Mac.” He tells her, almost pleadingly.

“Dennis… Mac is back at your apartment.” Dee says, a genuine fear in her eyes. “Isn’t he?” 

Dennis shakes his head. “I made him leave. He was… He didn’t leave his room for ten days! I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Dennis can’t tell them the rest, about the drugging, about the name of Mac’s monster. It’s too raw, an open wound that Dennis is afraid to touch, to look at. Dennis doesn’t want to think about how the pain in Mac’s eyes matched the one in Dennis’ chest, a visceral terrifying scream. 

“You don’t know where Mac is?” Charlie asks, and Dennis can hear the worry in his tone. Dennis shakes his head.

“Do… Do any of us know where Mac is right now?” Dee puts in quietly. Dennis can’t look at either of them. 

“Holy shit,” Charlie says quietly. “Holy fucking shit.” His voice raises slightly. “I knew this was going to get bad! I fucking knew it! We have to find Mac.  _ Now _ !” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be sure to check out my tumblr: crystalldaddy and my new fic Like Perfection! Thanks for reading!


	6. one hail mary for the hole in my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains an explicit mention of rape. Please read at your own caution. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading, and your patience! Finals are coming up so chapter 7 won't be up for another three weeks or so. Hope everyone enjoys this!
> 
> Chapter title is from Casanova by Allie X.

Mac steps out onto the tarmac and into the suffocating wet heat that envelops this part of the world. He’s never been out of the country before. Isn’t even sure how he managed to get into the country without a passport. But he guesses having an American drivers license will get you far, even if it is from a Pennsylvania city three-thousand miles away. 

His shirt sticks to his back and he can feel the sweat drip from the back of his knees into his socks. Tijuana is hot, hotter than he’s ever experienced in his life. But there is something intoxicating about the heat. Like the temperature outside is matching the temperature emanating from beneath his skin. There is a fire in his chest and finally, there is a heat here to feed the flame. He is burning. 

He can feel his pockets rattle and mentally inventories the contents: keys to his… Dennis’ house; his drivers' license; a maxed-out credit card; a one-way plane ticket; a five dollar bill; a letter from his dad with a return address belonging to a hotel in Tijuana. He is on top of the world. 

He stumbles down the streets, the bustle of the tourist city around him. A small child stops him and asks for some money. He gives the kid the five dollars. Mac feels like a god. He doesn’t need money. 

The hotel is easy enough to find. This is the perfect plan, really. Mac doesn’t need Philadelphia. Doesn’t need his friends. Doesn’t need Dennis. Mac doesn’t understand how he was ever sad, how he ever let something so insignificant ruin his life like that. He walks into the lobby and is pleased that even with the blasting air conditioner, the wet heat seeps into the cracks of the hotel. The fire continues to burn. 

Except when he asks, the hotel manager won’t tell him what room Luther McDonald is staying in. Won’t even confirm that Luther McDonald is actually staying there. Mac wants to scream. He doesn’t, instead contents himself with knocking the tiny display of pamphlets to the floor and giving the concierge the finger. 

He paces the sidewalk outside the hotel. A flip has been switched on inside him, electric anger pulsing through his veins. The anger boils up so hot Mac can’t breathe. He digs his nails into the palms of his hands, so hard tiny crescent shaped bubbles of blood form along his life line. His blood is boiling over, steam rising up, up, up, into his head, the condensation spilling out his eyes and down his cheeks. He wipes the tears away quickly, berating himself. He’s not a pussy. He’s not a fag, and he doesn’t fucking cry. 

He doesn’t know how long he paces, digging moon-shaped cuts in his palms that will turn into moon-shaped scars. Mac plays the past month of his life on repeat, every moment magnified and done up double speed. Over and over again, he wakes up in the bedroom, tell-tale roofie memory loss, strained muscles, the naked man. Over and over and over and over and over, until it’s embedded on the inside of his skull. 

“Ronnie?” someone says, and Mac almost doesn’t respond because no one calls him Ronnie, except it’s his dad’s voice, and Mac turns around so quickly he’s pretty sure he’s strained something. 

“Dad!” He says, and he throws his arms out, to hug his dad. Except Luther is standing there with a horrified look on his face. For a split second, Mac thinks that there’s something behind him. Then he catches sight of his own hands, the blood dripping down his fingers, marks that from the right angle look like stigmata. There’s a line of sweat dripping down his back like the parting of the Red Sea, and for a moment Mac knows what it is to feel Christ-like. 

“Ronnie…” Luther says again and pauses for a moment before continuing. “Mac… What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Philly?” 

“I came to see you!” Mac tells him happily, and can’t understand the shocked look on his dad’s face. Shouldn’t a father be happy to see his son?

Luther looks around and then takes Mac by the arm, leading him into the hotel and up the stairs. They make it to the third floor and into Luther’s room. Mac looks around the room and smiles. “This is so cool,” Mac says.

“Why are you here Mac?” Luther asks again, and Mac has a flashback to a conversation with Dee. He tries to suppress that memory. Suppress anything that might remind him of home. 

“I had to go,” Mac says like it explains everything. “Dennis said I had to go.”

“Dennis told you to come here?” Luther asks. Mac sighs and rolls his eyes. Why wasn’t his dad understanding? Mac launches into the story from the beginning. Once he starts talking he can’t really stop. It almost feels like he’s talking about someone else like he’s in someone else’s story. Someone else’s lifetime. Granted, someone with his name who looked a lot like him, but warped and distorted. Mac thinks vaguely that he misses feeling like he’s in control like he’s not just watching from the outside looking in.

He talks about the man he was with, about Dee’s baby, about leaving Paddy’s, about staying in bed, about Dennis and the lamp. He talks until his throat is dry and his voice feels scratchy. He talks until his manic high evens out into a steady breath. He talks until he can’t anymore. 

When he’s done, he and Luther sit in silence for a moment. Luther is sitting on the bed now covering his mouth with his hand. Mac just watches the expanse of muscles and tendons on his father’s hand. It takes a while for Luther to speak. 

“Let me get this straight,” Luther says, running his hand down his chin to his lap. “You decided the best course of action after all of this was to max out your credit card and fly to Mexico, with only a return address from a letter written almost two years ago and the clothes on your back?” 

Mac freezes. He looks down at his hands, the full weight of the decision he’s made coming down on him. “I…” He doesn’t have the words to explain himself.

“Mac… This sounds like some serious shit,” Luther says. “I don’t know why you’re here. I can’t fix this for you.” 

Mac shakes his head. He doesn’t have an answer, doesn’t really know why he’s here. He just looks at his father pleadingly. He wants to hear his father say something, anything to fix this. Suddenly Mac is seven years old again, silently staring at his dad across the dinner table hearing that his father was going to prison. He always feels so small when people tell him things he doesn’t want to hear. 

“You realize you’re lucky that I’m still here,” Luther says quietly. “I could have been long gone by now.” 

“You would have told me,” Mac says, and that’s one thing he’s completely certain of. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because you told me you were here,” Mac says. “And you’re my dad.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am your dad. But I’m pretty shit at it,” Luther says. Mac just shrugs. He feels like he should say something to that, reassure Luther that he’s a good dad. But he can’t. Today is a day for truths, and he just guesses that this is another one. 

“Can I stay here? Just for a few days. Just to figure shit out,” Mac asks. 

“Yeah,” Luther says. “Yeah, of course. Son.” 

Mac nods. It’s not what he was hoping for but, for now, it’s enough. 

\---

He spends the next few days wandering the streets. He thinks, tries to figure out what to do. He walks back and forth to the bustling market place, tiny tourist traps that match the buzzing of his mind. He is silent mostly, just going over the details in his head like a list. 

Mac was raped. It is a detail Mac can’t ignore anymore, can’t hide away and claim it was his fault. He feels gross and weak. He’s big, he’s strong. He’s the sheriff of Paddy’s. He’s a badass. He should have noticed someone slip something in his drink, should have fought the guy off, should have done something. Anything. Should, should, should. He can barely contain the anger that courses through his veins, can barely contain everything he’s feeling about it. 

He realizes how delusional he’s been recently, thinks maybe he’s been this delusional his entire life. He doesn’t know how to compartmentalize all the things going through his head, let alone deal with them. He paces and prays and tries to make sense of everything. He thinks about the high school psychologist, the words bipolar disorder. Words he had dismissed so long ago and now wonders if maybe they’re more accurate than he thought. 

“In high school, they said I was bipolar,” he tells his dad one night over a beer, like saying the words out loud makes them easier to deal with. He’s been in Mexico for six days but it feels like a lifetime. 

Luther just nods. “Your mother is. Shouldn’t be surprised it’s genetic,” Luther says. Mac gapes a bit. 

“Mom’s bipolar?” Mac asks. 

“Not if you ask her. Refuses to admit it. But she is,” Luther confirms. Mac doesn’t know if this makes him feel better or worse. 

“Is that why you two never got back together?” Mac asks. 

“Probably,” Luther says, nodding slightly before taking another sip of his beer. 

Mac feels like all the tiny jigsaw pieces of his childhood are coming together. He doesn’t know if this should make him feel better, but he guesses it kind of does.

“Any plan for what you’re going to do next?” Luther asks. 

Mac shrugs. He doesn’t know what to do next. Well, that’s not entirely true. He has an idea of what to do next, but can’t actually bring himself to actually do it. 

Luther sighs. “Mac. Call them,” his dad says. Mac bites his lip. He knows he needs to, needs to get out of here. But part of him feels like calling them is admitting defeat. Mac’s been defeated enough lately, and he isn’t sure he’s prepared to take another hit. 

“And say what?” Mac asks. 

“Say you want to go home.” 

“And what if I don’t want to?” Mac says. 

“I think you want to. You can’t stay here forever. You can’t run away.” 

“Like you did?” Mac snaps. He doesn’t mean it, really, just wants to get a reaction out of Luther.

Luther doesn’t take the bait. “Yeah. Like I did. Go home, Mac. Call your friends and go home. Get help.” 

Get help. Mac wants to. He desperately wants to. He just doesn’t know how to ask for it. 

“And if I do, will you disappear for another two years?” 

“Will you try to get me thrown back in prison?” Luther responds. 

“No,” Mac says, feeling guilty. 

“No.” Luther answers. “Call them.” Luther nods his head towards the tiny hotel balcony. Mac gets the hint. He grabs the phone off the nightstand, snaking the cord out onto the balcony. The air is just as hot and sticky as it was his first day there. He thinks that he’s going to miss this heat. But Luther is right. He needs to call them. 

He dials the number to the bar, the only phone number he knows by heart. The phone rings up and he’s relieved when he hears Charlie’s voice over the crackly phone. 

“Paddy’s Pub. This is Charlie.” 

Mac can’t contain his smile, looking over the balcony at the bright lights of Tijuana. He feels the warm wind and hears the tinny music that rises up from the beach like smoke. For the first time, since that freezing morning in March when he woke up in a strange man’s bed, Mac feels like he’s in control of his life again. At least for a moment. 

“Charlie? It’s Mac. I’m in a bit of a bind, buddy.” 


	7. what do you know? i'm just a bad believer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took six million years, but Chapter 7 is finally here! Thanks for everyone's patience. I can't tell you what it means to me. I'm hoping to get the next chapter up a bit quicker, but I'm probably not going to be able to keep up with the one a week schedule I had going before. I'm hoping a new chapter every 2-3 weeks from here on out. There's probably going to end up being 12-13 chapters in total with no sequel planned for now. Thanks again for all the support!

When Charlie hears Mac’s voice on the phone he swears he’s having a goddamn stroke. There’s something so surreal about this entire situation. A weird mix of deja vu and something else that he can’t name. They’re at the bar, all four of them. It’s been 24 hours since they made the realization that Mac was missing and they haven’t left the bar in at least twelve hours. 

Dee does the math and it’s been a full week since anyone has actually seen or spoken to Mac. Nearly three weeks since Mac has been to the bar. Charlie and Dennis haven’t slept. Charlie has the suspicion that Dee would have stayed up with them if it wasn’t for her being six months pregnant. They haven’t really spoken since yesterday (or was it two days ago now; time seemed to blur together), since the weird apology with the eggs, and Charlie doesn’t know what to say to her. Are they okay? Everything hangs in the balance, neither here nor there and it leaves Charlie with a strange sense of vertigo. 

He realizes that this is the longest he’s gone without seeing or speaking to Mac since they were eight, and he wants to be sick. Instead, he takes another sip of his drink. He looks over a Dennis. Dennis is a wreck. They’re all falling apart and Charlie doesn’t know what to do about it. He misses his best friend so much it hurts. He wants to scream and cry and demand Mac come back, but he’s not a fucking pussy. Instead, he drinks. And isn’t that what they always do? Drink. 

The phone ringing is almost too good to be true. Just when Charlie is certain that he can’t take missing Mac anymore, the phone rings. He grabs it, quickly. He half hopes it’s Mac and half hopes it’s some dumb schmuck who’s called the bar at three AM, someone to take his anger out on. 

“Paddy’s Pub,” he says, and is he slurring his words? He can’t tell. “This is Charlie.” 

“Charlie? It’s Mac. I’m in a bit of a bind, buddy.” 

Charlie drops his glass. It shatters to the floor and makes Dennis stare at him, and wakes Dee up. 

“Mac?” He asks. And now Dee is shaking Frank awake. “Jesus fucking Christ Mac! Where the fuck are you?!” 

He wants to laugh cause he can almost hear the wince in Mac’s voice. 

“Uh, I’m in Mexico dude.” 

Charlie wishes he had another glass, so he could drop it again. It seemed to work so well for dramatic effect.

“What the actual fuck?” Charlie says instead. “You’re in Mexico? How… What? Why?” 

“It’s a really long story, man,” Mac says on the other line. “I’m with my dad.” 

“I’m having a goddamn stroke,” Charlie says with a certain sense of finality. “Is that what this is? Am I having a fucking stroke?” 

“What? Charlie, what are you talking about?” Mac says, and Charlie lets out an incredulous laugh at the concern in Mac’s voice.

“I’m talking about the fact that you’ve apparently been missing for a goddamn week, and we’ve been fucking scouring Philly for the past 24 hours looking for you. Dee wanted to file a goddamn missing person’s report.” 

“Dee wanted to file a missing person’s report for me?” Mac asks like he can’t believe it. 

“Yeah, she’s six months pregnant, dude. She’s freaking out about everything.” Charlie says like it’s the obvious answer. He feels something wet hit the back of his neck and turns around to find a lime slice that Dee has thrown flop on the counter. He isn’t sure if this means she’s mad at him or not. Maybe it’s just part of the strange relationship that people have when they’re not dating but are having a baby together. Charlie thinks he might be kind of a terrible person for focusing on Dee and himself instead of Mac. “That’s beside the point. What the fuck are you doing in Mexico with your Dad.” 

“I… Me and Dennis had a fight. I… There’s… Look. I don’t want to explain this all over the phone.” 

“So come home,” Charlie says forcefully, like saying will cause Mac to materialize in the bar. 

“It’s not that simple, Charlie,” Mac says. “I… Look, I wasn’t in a good place. I did something stupid. I maxed out my credit card to get the plane ticket here. I left everything else in Philly. I don’t have any money. I need you or Frank or somebody to wire me money or something. I don’t know. Mail me some cash. Anything. I’m asking you to bail me out, dude.” 

Charlie blinks and takes in what Mac’s told him. He’s trying to process everything. He stares around the bar, making eye contact with Frank, then Dennis, then Dee. They’re all staring at him with bated breath, waiting to hear the latest news. The solution comes to him quickly, all at once, hitting him like a train. “We’re going to fly to Mexico to get you, man.” He says like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Charlie isn’t an idiot, although he knows everyone thinks he is. He knows that this plan might not be the best, might not be practical. But for a moment, he sees it. An opportunity to get their fucked up lives back on track. He can’t help but take it.  

\---

It doesn’t go like Charlie plans, and Dee is glad for it. The idea of sitting on a thirteen-hour flight from Philadelphia to Tijuana while six months pregnant sounds like torture. What surprises her most is Charlie’s willingness to go on a plane ride like that, and Dennis’ resistance to going to get Mac. She wonders if it’s guilt that keeps Dennis here. She wonders if it’s guilt that made Charlie go. Guilt or love. She isn’t sure on either count. The world is so goddamn weird right now. 

Frank buys Charlie the first plane ticket out of the country, and two tickets from Tijuana back to Philly. Dee fights the urge to make a snide comment or laugh when Frank has to write out the ticket information in absurd pictograms for Charlie to understand. She says nothing and watches them with a pit in her stomach, thinking once again about how un-funny Charlie’s illiteracy is when he’s the father of your child. The baby kicks in response and Dee has to excuse herself to be sick in the bathroom. Dee’s felt nauseated ever since Dennis had shown up at her apartment. She isn’t sure if she can blame it on baby hormones this time. 

They see Charlie off at the airport. Dee gives him an awkward hug and says nothing as he places his hand on her stomach. She isn’t sure which she resents more: Dennis staring at them intently, or Frank turning away. She watches him walk away through the gate, morphing from Charlie into an endless mass of people, each with their own drama to deal with. 

It strikes her as an odd moment of convergence. There’s a disconnect between all of them. Like they’ve picked sides in a war that no one is fighting. Her and Charlie and Frank on one side, Dennis and Mac on the other. Or maybe Mac and Dennis aren’t on one side. Maybe it’s Mac alone, and Dennis alone, and Charlie alone. All four of them alone and Frank desperately trying to hold them together like he depends on them more than they depend on him. They’ve been broken over and over again, and now one of them is in another country. She wonders if this is the part where they put their differences aside, like some dumbass Lifetime movie and become a family again. 

Of course, that implies they were a family, to begin with. Dee’s always thought that the whole “found family” thing was bullshit.  

Once Charlie is on his plane, Frank drives her back to her apartment and leaves Dennis there as well. Dee doesn’t know if this is on purpose or if Frank’s just too caught up in his own head. She doesn’t say anything about it, just lets Frank drive off and ushers Dennis into the apartment. She makes up the couch for him, silently deciding that her brother isn’t going to be alone while Charlie and Mac are gone. She doesn’t trust him alone.

Dennis doesn’t say anything about it. Just sits on her couch, and god if he didn’t look broken. He’s too quiet for her. She gives him about twenty minutes before she begins talking. 

“I was thinking Emma. For a girl. Or Nathan. I don’t want my kid to have a shit name. Like Dennis and Deandra. Who names children things like that? We have like, old people names.” Dee says, because if pregnancy has given her anything, it’s an excuse to talk about herself without anyone telling her to shut up. As long as she talks about the baby, everyone seems willing to listen. It’s like being pregnant has turned her into a conversation piece. It’s almost like being important. 

Dennis looks up at her, like he’s surprised. 

“What if you have twins?” he asks, softly, like he’s looking through her instead of at her. 

“I’m not. They can tell things like that.” She tells him. He shrugs. Dee turns away from him and rolls her eyes. She’s tired of this shit. 

“Dennis, what did you and Mac fight about? Why are you wigging so much?” Dee asks, blunt and firm. 

Dennis just glares at her. 

“Cut the crap,” she tells him. “That shit might work on Frank, or Charlie, or even Mac, but I’m your fucking twin sister and I know when something’s up with you so will you just tell me?”

“Shut up, Dee.” Dennis sneers. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll just ask Mac when he gets back. We’re like besties now, I guess so he’ll spill everything.” Dee says. It’s a bluff. She and Mac haven’t actually had a real conversation since the night she revealed she was pregnant. But it succeeds in pushing Dennis’ buttons. 

“You’re such a bitch!” Dennis says, and there’s a real bite to his words, but she can tell that she’s won. She sits next to him on the couch and waits. 

Dennis takes a while to find the words to talk about it. Dennis doesn’t do talking, she knows this. When they were kids, before they decided they hated each other, Dennis would only cry if she got hurt, never when he did. She had read somewhere that twins could feel each other’s pain. Part of her wondered if that’s what it was, but she had never experienced it. Maybe the whole pain thing was bullshit; maybe she was just a shitty twin. Maybe it didn’t matter either way. 

“Mac… He… It wasn’t explicit or anything. I mean… He didn’t like… use the word. But…. he implied that some chick drugged and…” Dennis closes his eyes, and Dee feels the lump in her throat, knows the word before Dennis even says it. “Some girl drugged and raped him, I guess.”

“Oh my god,” Dee says because there’s really nothing else she can say. She knew it happened. She had known people it happened to. Dee had quietly come to believe that it was the untold secret of womanhood, that they all knew someone it had happened to. It was always a vague unformed concept for her, something that happened to a friend of a friend, and was awful and tragic but would never happen to her or anyone she really cared about. This is raw and gaping and she wants to cry. She wipes at her eyes vaguely, even though they’re dry. 

“And then he left?” She asks quietly. 

“No,” Dennis says, and Dee feels dread in her stomach, like what Dennis has just told her isn’t the worst part. “No, I laughed at him, and he threw a lamp at me and it broke, and I just kind of flipped and threw him out.” 

Dee isn’t expecting that answer and just stares at Dennis with wide eyes. “What the fuck?” she asks. 

“I thought he’d come back!” Dennis says defensively standing from his place from the couch. “I thought he’d just go for a few hours and then come back and we’d forget it ever happened. Then he didn’t and I thought maybe he was teaching me a lesson like he was hiding out here or something and you all were just having a big laugh at my expense.” 

Dee doesn’t know how to process that logic. It’s so outside the realm of anything she could think of, all she can come up with in response is another, “What the fuck?” 

“See this is why I never tell you anything!” Dennis says angrily like somehow this is all her fault. 

“What do you want me to say to that, Dennis?” Dee shoots back. 

“I don’t know!” Dennis shouts. “I don’t know what anyone should say! This is so supremely fucked up! It’s sick and twisted and fucking terrible and you're pregnant, and Frank is being a dad, and Mac is in Mexico when he should be here with me!” 

Dee blinks at the admission and gets the sudden urge to reach out and hug her brother. She attempts to, but her baby bump gets there first, and Dennis is caught off guard, stumbling back slightly. They both pause and blink at each other, the air tense. And then, Dee can’t help but laugh, a thick throaty sound that she doesn’t bother to hide. Dennis is laughing too, and they’re both laughing so hard, they’re crying. It’s not funny. There’s nothing about this situation that’s remotely funny. But Dee figures if they weren’t laughing they’d be crying and this is better, if only marginally. 

It takes a moment before they calm down enough to continue the conversation. There’s silence at first, as Dee takes a seat on the couch next to him. She leans back, placing her hands on her stomach. 

“You’re pregnant as shit,” Dennis says. “I can’t believe you let Charlie knock you up.” 

Dee shrugs. “It’s all kind of a fucking mess, isn’t it? I feel like all we do anymore is sit around and have depressing conversations with each other. It’s like a goddamn indie film, except I don’t get to drink my way through it.” 

Dennis nodded. “Sounds about right. You have any beer?”

“In the fridge. I’m not getting it for you.” Dee told him. She laid back further, stretching out. Her back cracks and she winces. Dennis gets up and grabs his beer from the fridge before taking his place next to her. Dee just stares blankly at her turned-off television. 

“A real goddamn mess,” Dennis says after a while. 

“You said that Mac should be here with you. Not just like… back in general. But with you specifically.” Dee says. She watches Dennis’ reaction carefully, notices how he tenses up before shrugging. 

“Well yeah,” Dennis says, “I mean… he’s my roommate.” 

“He’s your…” Dee pauses for a moment before continuing. “Dennis, are you like… in love with Mac?” 

“What? No. Shut up, Dee.” Dennis says quickly. “You always fucking do this. We were having a moment, and you ruined it. You goddamn bitch.” 

Dee holds up her hands and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a bitch. I look like a bird. I’m a slut. Anything I’m missing?”

Dennis ponders for a moment. “You let Charlie Kelly knock you up.”  

“That too.” Dee agrees. She leans back and gazes around the room, around her apartment and finally down to her baby belly. In the moment, it almost felt like things were on their way back to normal. But as she looks over at Dennis, and eyes him up and down as he drinks his beer, she can’t help but choke on the uncertainty. The tiniest ghost of a thought assaults her, fills the room with the uncertainty. Two words that shouldn’t mean anything, but somehow engulf the spaces between all of them:  _ What now? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Bad Believer by St. Vincent. If you're interested in the playlist that I made to go with this fic, let me know and I'll post it on my tumblr: crystalldaddy.tumblr.com


End file.
